


I'll Follow You Into the Dark

by lynxzpanther



Category: Green Street (2005)
Genre: Bovver POV, M/M, mostly canon compliant with minor changes to some scenes, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynxzpanther/pseuds/lynxzpanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's always been the center of Bovver's world; unfortunately for them both, that doesn't seem to stop Bovver from being an idiot most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Follow You Into the Dark

Bovver leaned against the alley wall outside Pete's flat and watched his breath mix with the smoke from his cigarette in the cold night air. They were both drunk, but not too badly. They were busted up from their mediocre fight an hour before, but it hadn't been very intense and they'd easily won. Pete, however, had lost his keys in the midst of things- his wallet too- so they'd walked all the way here through the cold London streets. Bovver dropped his ciggy to the ground and crushed it with the toe of his sneaker, shoving his hands deep in the pocks of his coat. "It's a fucking cold night, mate," he commented, breaking the not-quite-uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah," Pete agreed quietly.

Bov turned and looked at his best friend. "You all right, mate?" Pete's eyes were far away and almost sad. Whatever thoughts he was thinking weren't good, Bovver could tell that much, and he knew that Pete would never show this expression in front of any of the others. Pete was the leader of the GSE—the best damn firm in London—and he was everything their leader needed to be: confident, brave, loyal, and tough as nails. He couldn't be vulnerable, couldn't doubt his place; there was just too much to live up to when The Major was your older brother.

Pete was worried that he couldn't do it, couldn't bring the Green Street Elite back to the top, and Bovver was positive that he was the only one that knew it.

"I'm fine," Pete said quickly, scuffing his toe in the dirt that had gathered at the building's edge. He glanced at the doorway. "I should head up; we've got that game tomorrow."

"Pete," Bovver said quickly, reaching out and taking hold of his arm. Bovver hated feelings, hated feeling anything, but fuck if Peter Dunham couldn't get under his skin like no one else could. "You didn't take what that cunt said seriously, did you?" He tried to meet Pete's eyes and check if he was on the mark, but Pete kept his head ducked down obstinately. "He was wrong. You're the best damn leader we could have ended up with, Pete, and everyone knows it."

"The Major was better," Pete said with a note of finality, but Bov wasn't going to drop it, especially now when he had some inkling of what was going on behind Pete's wide blue eyes.

"The Major isn't real anymore, Pete, and you know it." Pete shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, finally meeting Bov's eyes. Bovver didn't give him the chance, continuing, "It took your brother years to get there, mate. You've got time."

He saw something—reluctance, maybe, or fear—flash through Pete's blue eyes. "You can't know that, Bov. Fuck it all, we could die tomorrow."

Bovver shook his head, burrowing his hands deeper into his pockets. "But we won't, mate."

"Bovver..." Pete trailed off, looking down at the ground and back up again. "Mate, I can't do what Steve did. I can't become the next legend. I don't have it in me."

Bov narrowed his eyes. "You do, Pete. Everyone knows it." Bovver hated to show feelings, but Pete had done it again—reduced him to a fucking mess of confusion. "I know it, mate. I believe you can."

Pete stared at him, disbelief, incredulity, and finally humor flashing through his eyes. He started laughing, roughly clapping Bov on the shoulder. "Fuck, mate, how much balls did it take for you to say that?"

"Don't know what you're on about," Bovver huffed, reached out a hand to smack Pete upside the head. He blinked, and in that moment Pete took the advantage and knocked his arm aside and pinned him to the wall. "What the fuck?" He tried to push Pete away with no success; Pete just used the rest of his body weight to keep Bovver effectively restrained.

Pete laughed, and Bovver could smell the beer from the previous hours still on his breath. He knew Pete was drunk, but surely not that drunk, right? No. Even in the dim light he could see the mischief in his best mate's eyes. "Poor Bovver—don’t you even realize that's the most sentimental you've been in months?"

Bov rolled his eyes. "Well, Pete, we can't all be bloody poufs like you."

Pete laughed. "You'd know, wouldn't you, Bov?" His tone was half playful and half... something ele, something Bovver couldn't quite pin it down. Calculating, maybe? Knowing, definitely.

So just what the hell was it that Pete thought he knew? "You're bleedin' pissed, mate; you ain't making any sense."

Pete laughed. "Really? Then maybe I'll just have to show you what I mean." And before Bovver could ask him just what the fuck he meant by that, Pete had leaned forward and kissed him. It was chaste and he pulled away after only a few seconds, but a triumphant cheer lingered in Pete's eyes. "See, mate? If you weren't a bloody pouf you would have beat seven shades of shit out of me, huh?"

"What the hell?" Bovver wondered absently if he looked as frenzied as his mind felt. He could hear the wild confusion in his own voice and shut his mind down, clearing his thoughts out instantly. "What the fuck was that, Pete? You had better be bloody pissed from all those drinks or I swear to God..."

"What?" Pete asked with a quite laugh, a small smirk playing on his lips. Those lips... Bov looked away, trying to pretend that he hadn't just thought that. Trying to pretend that he hadn't been thinking of Pete doing that for months, hell, years now. Pete leaned his head closer once more, lips only centimeters from meeting Bovver's own. His eyebrows raised. "You going to say you don't want me to kiss you, then, Bov?"

"I..." Bovver trailed off resignedly, giving up on words. They weren't his friends right now. Instead, he leaned those crucial centimeters closer and pressed their lips together. The kiss was only as chaste as the previous one for a few moments before Pete smirked once more and deepened it. Pete's tongue swept across Bov's bottom lip and he opened his mouth to allow access without even thinking. This wasn't thought, this was feeling, and Bov couldn't understand why he'd been so afraid of feeling before. This... how could I not have wanted this? Bov wondered absently as the taste of Pete filled his mouth. The man pinning him to the wall had overtaken all of his senses and, fuck, he never wanted this kiss to end.

But Pete pushed away after a few moments, stumbling back and away from Bovver with a small smile. "Huh. I thought as much." He glanced at the door once more before shooting Bov an evil grin. "We've got to be up before noon to head off to that game tomorrow, though, Bov, and it's late. Meet you at the Abby tomorrow for some pre-game drinks, yeah?"

Bovver nodded numbly. "Yeah, Pete..."

Peter disappeared inside and Bovver was left to make his way home, reliving the past minute over and over in his mind. Fuck. He must have gone mental, but he'd fallen for Peter Dunham and deep down he knew there was no going back.

________________________________________  
The next day, however, when Bovver returned to their table in the Abbey he saw not only Pete but a new kid tagging along. He was dark haired and bright eyed, a couple years younger, and Bov hated him on sight. Pete introduced him as his sister-in-law's kid brother, but the words did nothing to lessen Bov's jealousy—jealousy? When the fuck did he ever get jealous?—and he spurned the kid's polite hello. Their mates had seemed delighted with his loutish behavior, so it must not have been entirely unexpected of him. Pete laughed and regarded him somewhat reproachfully, chiding, "He's practically family, mate."Bovver had grinned a little and flashed him an angelic "who, me?" face, and the others all laughed once more at his feigned obliviousness at the slight to the yank.

A fucking yank. What the hell was Pete thinking, bringing a yank to the Abbey—hangout of the one and only GSE—right before football? Telling himself that he wasn't jealous Bovver went and found a pretty girl to snog and talk sweetly to. He was aware of Pete staring at him whenever he could get away with it and, after a time, Bov felt somewhat ashamed for acting like a child. He filled up his glass once more and went off to sing songs and discreetly watch the yank for a moment when he could confront him... alone.

That moment came about half an hour later as Matt entered the bathroom all by himself. Bovver went in, important and angry—not jealous—and scared the shit out of Pete's new best mate. Confident that he'd done enough to scare the kid off, he listened with secret glee minutes later as Matt told Pete that he wasn't feeling well and wanted to head home. Pete, however, ruined it by telling his little yank that there was no way he was missing the game and teased him before dragging him off, arm around his shoulder.

And, God, maybe Bov was a little jealous. So maybe he felt inclined to do something to gain back that attention during the game. Just maybe. And hell, they would be fighting the rival firm later anyways. Why not rile 'em up?

He was kicked out of the match, but for the admiration of his mates after it was easily worth it. "Stuff of legends," Pete had told him, making him grin with pride for the moment. To make it all better, the yank headed home—didn’t want to fight, naturally—and, finally, there was no competition.

But Pete had a bad feeling that something was up so they'd backtracked, finding that Matt had been jumped by some of the gits from Manchester. They'd easily beat up the three, defending Matt, and headed off happy. Or tried to. A rock to the van had them running off after the gits from the firm to find all fifty or so pumped for a fight. Dave and Pete had been so proud of their new little prodigy and his first fight, enough that it almost made Bov sick. He left the Abbey early that night, accidentally passing Pete on the way out. Arms laden with beers for the group he looked confused when he saw Bovver at the door. "Where're you going, mate?"

"Home," Bov told him simply, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Why? Mate, the party's only just getting started!"

Bov shrugged. "I guess I'm just tried." Before Pete could respond he turned and walked out, knowing that he'd probably hurt Pete with his careless comments. He just couldn't think right with the yank around. Tomorrow the yank would be gone and he'd be able to straighten things out.

With that to look forward to Bovver headed home.

________________________________________  
Needless to say, Bov was just a little pissed off when Pete walked into the Abbey the next day with Matt tagging along. "Jesus," he burst out without thinking. Pete shot him a glare as he sat down, but Bov headed over undeterred. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two was a couple of gay boys," he continued. It was a stupid thing to say, but he was trying to get a rise out of Pete.

Pete sighed and stood up, swaggering over to Bovver as he began to speak. "Bov," he said slowly, and Bovver hung on every word, now slightly worried about what effect his words would have. He never thought! "We've known each other a long time, yeah? I trust you more than any other bloke I know. But you're getting dangerously close to crossing the line with me. If you've got a problem, then it's your fucking problem, not mine." It was probably the coldest thing he'd ever said to Bov, and pretty damn far from the truth as well. It was only then that Bov remembered all the others in their pub watching the scene play out. Pete leaned closer with his next words, their foreheads now only inches from touching. "If you want to discuss it further, we can go outside."Bovver had started to move, but one of their mates- Bov didn't pay attention to who, he didn't care- shoved between them and held out a beer to each.

"Beers, boys," he told them, but Bovver blew him off.

"I'll take you up on that offer, then," he carelessly told Pete, heading off out the door. He heard another trademark sigh as Pete followed him. He'd obviously hoped they may have settled it all there.

But Bov hadn't gotten his say.

"Alright, mate, what the fuck is all this about then?" Pete asked, leaning casually against the wall.

"What's with you and the fuckin' yank?" Bovver asked, knowing to just get to the point before Pete decided to blow him off.

"He's practically family," Pete told him, repeating what he'd said the day before. "He got in the middle of an argument between me and Steve and my brother kicked him out. He has nowhere to go, Bov; what do you expect me to do?" Pete asked him wearily.

"What, so now you're going to let him live with you?" Bov hissed angrily. "What the hell do we even know about this boy, anyway? Yeah, he's your brother's wife's brother! What else?"

Pete shrugged. "I can't just leave him, Bov." He looked up to the sky before finally meeting Bovver's eyes. "There's nothing between us, Bov, if that's what you think. And besides, what was with you and that bird yesterday? Snogging in the Abbey?"

Bovver shrugged the comment off. "Come off it, I was only having a good time."

Pete glared at him. "Yeah? Well, you've got your life, I've got mine. Maybe it's best we just stay mates anyways." With that he headed off back into the bar. Bovver was left behind, slightly shell-shocked from how the argument had played out and what he'd just lost. He slammed his fist into the stone wall, wincing as it scraped and bloodied his knuckles.

Fine then. He was probably better off without the cunt, anyways. He shoved back through the doors and went back to his pool game, vehemently ignoring the two men across the room.  
________________________________________  
Once they'd left a few hours later, however, Bov began to feel guilty. Again. He headed off to Pete's flat, praying that, by some miracle, Matt wouldn't be there. He rapped hard on the door a few times and waited impatiently for it to open.

"What?" Pete asked without prelude when the door opened.

Bov sighed. "I'm sorry."

Pete glared at him for a moment before nodding and heading back inside. He hadn't closed the door, though, so Bovver took it as an invitation and followed him in, shutting the door behind him. "Is that yank here?" he called after Pete: he hated the silence.

"Matt's gone, yeah," Pete said after a moment, coming back from his room with a beer in his hand. He dropped down on the couch—still covered by a sleeping bag—and looked up at Bov pointedly. "Why are you here?"

Bov dropped down next to Pete and shrugged. "I already said it. I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" Pete asked. "What if I don't care, Bov? Don't you know that you'll always be sorry for something? You always have been."

"I fucked up, Pete, but I really didn't mean it. You said it before: you trust me more than any other bloke. Can't you give me a chance?"

Pete tipped back his beer and downed it. Even when Pete was angry with him, debating whether to be logical and tell Bov to shove off or to be emotional and take him back, Bov still couldn't help but notice how sexy he looked.

He was so fucking screwed.

"I gave you a chance already, Bov. How many do you expect? Like you said before, I've got no business babysitting. I don't want to have to make up for every time you fuck something up. Bugger off." Bovver was almost surprised that the logical side of Pete had won out. It was there, it had its say, but Pete seemed to let his nicer side reign more often. It was what made him the best leader they could have- even better than Steve had been. It was why Bov was sure he could bring back the GSE.

It was why he trusted the yank.

But he didn't want Bov. He'd made that much clear. If even the nice side of Pete couldn't outweigh the logical one, Bov didn't have a fucking chance in hell. Shit.

He stood up slowly and headed out, but as he opened the door he felt a hand on his arm. He froze, but he didn't turn and look. If he did, it wouldn't be real.

"Bov," Pete said quietly. "Don't..." The hand left his arm, and he heard an almost angry sigh behind him. Before he could stop himself Bovver turned and looked anyway.

Pete was there, that wasn’t simply his imagination, and he was looking at him with both frustration and sadness. "Don't go. I didn't mean..." Pete gave up on words and just closed the short distance, kissing him.

Hell, it may not have been what Bov had expected—even back when he hoped for another chance at this—but he was not complaining.

This was heaven.

Bov quickly took control of the kiss, pushing Pete up against the wall. Hands were roaming, jackets were shed, and shirts were being hastily unbuttoned and pulled off when he heard a sharp gasp from behind them. A surprised, "Oh...!" had them pulling apart and the both turned towards the door to see...

...Matt standing there, jaw slightly agape, staring at them and looking thoroughly confused. "I didn't... I mean... I'll just..." He ran a hand through his messy dark hair and blinked a couple times. "I'll just go and... um... see Shannon?" he suggested awkwardly, pointing his thumb behind him at the door, which was still cracked open. Only then did Bov realize that they'd never shut it, lost in the moment... and each other.

"Matt..." Pete started before he stopped. Bov turned to see that he was staring at the ground. His cheeks were flushed and he was looking anywhere but at the two men in the apartment.

Bov turned back to the yank defiantly, daring him to say something, anything, to piss him off and start a fight.

Matt didn't seem to notice: he was still looking at Pete. "It's not... I don't... uh…" He stopped again, seemingly to try to think about what he was going to say before he attempted stringing words together. "I didn't know," he finally said. It wasn't the most intelligent of sentences, but it was more than he'd gotten out before.

"There's a lot of things you don't know," Bov told him sullenly, but Pete shot him a glare and he shut up. He'd already fought with Pete once today; he couldn't afford to make an arse of himself again so soon, so Bov stuffed it like a good little boyfriend.

"I should've told you," Pete said quietly. He still wasn't quite looking at Matt, rather just over his head. "You don't have to go... if you want to stay still, that is."

"Of course I want to stay!" Matt said, too quickly for Bovver's liking really. "I just don't want to..." Matt looked down and a blush highlighted his cheeks before he continued, "ya know... interrupt... anything..."

He dropped his bag and pulled the door back open. Pete looked at him now, opening his mouth to say something, but Matt cut him off. "I'll be back later, Pete. Just... see ya." Matt shot Bov a somewhat understanding smile and a, "Bye, Bovver," before he was gone and the door clicked shut.

"Well... maybe the yank isn't as bad as I might have thought," Bov admitted with a sigh. He didn't like being wrong.

Pete grinned at the admission. "Is anyone ever as bad as you initially think they are? You hated every one of our mates in the beginning."

Bov shrugged. "So? That was the one thing I said before that was true. You trust lads too easy. I'm your best mate; I've gotta compensate."

Pete shot him a crooked grin. "If you say so."

Bov grinned and closed the distance between them once more, kissing Pete thoroughly and leaving no room in his mind for any other thoughts, no breath for any other words.

For the moment, things were right again.

________________________________________  
Bovver was trying to be good and to not mess things up. But he couldn't help it if he just hated that yank. Really, who wouldn't? The lucky bastard got to live with Pete, and Bov still wasn't sure if they could even trust him. Could he really be blamed for being suspicious about a random yank living with the current leader of the GSE? So when he walked into the Abby the next night and saw the two of them there, Bov couldn't help but duck out the back exit. Yeah, he missed Pete, but not that much. He just couldn't risk messing things up further.

Of course, that didn't necessarily justify going into Tommy Hatcher's territory. It was stupid, but hey, most things that Bovver did were incredibly dense. It was sort of an eye for an eye type of thing—if Pete wanted to let a yank into their midst, then why shouldn't Bovver consort with the enemy too? Not that he planned to talk to them, mind; this was just to prove a point. To himself, because Bovver doubted Pete would ever find out and didn't really want him to.

Tommy Hatcher wasn't even there, but Bov didn't mind. It was lonely to eat alone, but Bov's whole fucking life was lonely, so what damage could a few more lonely hours do?

Of course, Bov's luck couldn't hold. When did it ever? Tommy walked in flanked by two of his other cronies. "Well, if it's not my old mate Bovver!” he proclaimed in a falsely jovial tone that had Bov wanting to wince. “How you doing, son?” He glared and did his best to ignore Tommy—maybe that'd be the key to getting left alone. As if. A few words filtered though, though, "What's this I heard about your firm going all fucking international?" Bov stiffened a bit—really, news of the yank had traveled this far that fast? Damn blood snoops... Tommy called him out for ignoring him and this fucked up conversation, and Bovver was forced to look up from his food levelly. He wasn't scared. Being outnumbered five to one was nothing to be worried about.

"S'only temporary," Bov finally said in answer. Then Tommy was hollering at the whole damn place to be quiet for his conversation, and Bov looked down again. He wanted to kick Hatcher's ass, but that wasn't smart, and for once Bov needed to think his actions through.

It was harder to maintain noble intentions when Tommy was talking to him once more, making fun of Pete this time. Bov's blood boiled and he was shooting insults back, hardly thinking about what he said.

Tommy was pissed, but he took it out on the loud couple near them, yelling and insulting those people and the GSE alike, crazy bastard. When Tommy started slamming the fairly innocent bloke's head into the table, over and over with what looked like some pretty mean force, Bov had to stand up and drag Tommy off. "That's enough!"

Then Hatcher was in his face, yelling at him as Bovver tried to hold his ground and back away all at once. Because, fuck, this man was a lunatic and it was terrifying when he openly displayed it. "That's enough? I'll tell you when it's enough!" But the other Millwall freaks called Tommy off and scattered. With a last threat Tommy followed, leaving Bovver practically swaying with relief. He sat back down at his table, not knowing what else to do, but the food didn't seem particularly appetizing now that his stomach was doing flips.

Fuck it all, why did he always screw things up?

________________________________________  
Yeah, Bovver hated the yank, but after the Manchester ordeal he had to admit that the kid was fucking sly. Yeah, they'd almost gotten in a fight and pissed Pete off, but once the plan had been carried out it had to be admitted that the yank—that Matt—had balls. Maybe, just maybe, he was GSE material. So maybe Bov could do what Pete wanted and try to accept him. It seemed to go a long way to solving a lot of problems, especially the ones between him and Pete.

For a long, long time things worked. Yeah, it was strange how fast Matt had wormed his way in, but he was one of them now. Bov was a bit edgy at times, but he was that way with all the others, truth be told. The yank was one of them and he'd rightfully earned his place, so Bov let things lie and didn't snoop further. He was glad to just move things further with Pete instead. Being with Pete was worth almost anything in the world.

________________________________________  
The draw! The draw! It was the ultimate high: the biggest rivalry, a chance the GSE hadn't had in ten years. "...you're not gonna believe who I just saw walk into the times!"

"What?" Bov paused; fucking journos, what now? "Who?"

"Our little yank mate!"

Four words and all of the animosity that had been long buried away came right back to the surface. "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something dodgy about that little cunt!" Bovver seethed.

"Yeah, mate, he's sly."

Exactly. Hadn't Bovver thought the same thing before? Fucking schemer. "Yeah, mate, tell you what, pick me up after work."

"All right mate, all right, see you after work."

________________________________________  
Telling Pete wasn't one of Bovver's happiest moments, but it didn't altogether suck, either. He couldn't help it: he liked to say "I told you so."

"You sure about this, Bov? 'Cause coming in here like this, you fucking well better be."

Bovver mumbled a reply, clapping Pete on the shoulder before moving past him. No, he wasn't sure, but he was as sure as he could get. After all, wasn't that why they were here?

He couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that hovered over him, but he snooped around and ignored it, thinking that maybe this could all end with minimal pain.

Pete would be all his again. Things would go back to normal. Right?

________________________________________  
Watching Pete yell at Matt like an avenging angel, fucking gorgeous, was amazing, yeah, but it didn't sate that betrayed—and slightly jealous—hunger within Bov. So he dragged him up and started pounding on the yank, the kid too stunned to properly fight back.

Stevie Dunham, The Major, shoved him back, and Bov let the kid lie on the floor for a bit as the brothers yelled it out, confident that he'd get his shot to continue beating the crap out of the traitorous leech in a few moments. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

"He's fucking undercover!" Pete yelled, angry as hell. Hurt. And Bov hated that, seeing him hurt. "Don't tell him nothing!"

"I said are you sure," Steve shot back determinedly.

Then it got through to them. "What?" Pete looked a tad horrified and even more hurt than before. "You already knew?"

"All I know," Steve said, "is he studied journalism, right, at Harvard. But he's dropped out."

"We found his journal, full of stories about us..." Pete told him.

"It's just a fucking diary!" Matt shouted from the ground.

"Ned saw you at The Times with a couple of journos!" Pete yelled down at him, face contorted with rage.

"That was my dad; he's the journalist; you knew that!" Matt defended, indignant.

Bov's world seemed to spin confusingly, things being torn out of place and reassembled in what appeared to be the wrong order. It all felt wrong. Pete couldn't... He turned on Pete: "His old man's a fucking journo and you knew about it?"

Was it just him, or did Pete look guilty? "Look, that don't mean nothing here, Bov," Pete said, refusing to look at him.

"It what? He studies to be a journo, his old man is a journo, what's the fucking difference?" As Bov got angrier Pete was forced to look at him. "You let one of them get in with us!" His voice hitched at the end; he was almost hysterical. That wasn't good, Bov did not show weakness, not like this, not now...

"I wasn't trying to get anything!" The yank defended, his own hysteria obvious in his tone.

"You shut the fuck up!" Bov exploded, all of his anger at Pete, Steve, Matt, this fucked up mess channeled into this. He kicked out at Matt and before he knew it Pete was slamming him into the wall, yelling at him about how wrong it was to kick someone when they were down, no matter how much of a git they were.

Now Bov's head was fucking bleeding and Pete was angry at him when none of this was his fucking fault! "What's fucking wrong with you, eh? He's gonna bury us all and what, you're gonna sit down and watch him do it?" And Pete just stared him down. Bov got a bit more panicked and turned to Steve for help. He was no Pete, but he had enough of a rep to carry them on for a bit... "Nah, nah, Steve, you're The Major! You started this firm! I'm speaking for all the boys here when I say we've got the biggest ruck of our lives coming up and your brother's too much of a ball job," he shot the insult haphazardly in Pete's direction, his own betrayal pouring into the two words, "to lead us!"

Steve just looked him in the eye and steadily said, "The GSE is Pete's firm now. He calls the shots."

Bov looked finally at all the other guys, his mates, but none of them said a word. None of them would back him. "Well, fuck the lot of you! GSE?" He shoved his way through the crowd that had gathered to watch. "Get out of my fucking way!"

He was out and on his motorbike, riding away. He had a general destination in mind. His logical mind was screaming at him to turn around and go home, but he was too pissed off. Bov was a fighter and if Pete wanted to go down, fine (here his heart lurched—damn that infuriating man), but Bov was not going down with him (even if he really, really wanted to). He would not give in to the urge to turn around, apologize, and let the GSE fall to dust. No. Bov would be better than that.

He head into Millwall's bar, looking for Tommy specifically this time.

"Bovver. You know we're gonna have to stop meeting like this, don't you, son? People are gonna start to talk. So what'chu doing up so late on a fucking school night, anyway? Shouldn't you be at home with your pals all shitting at the thought of us turning you over?" Bov had to remember that he couldn't be angry at that—he wasn't a GSE member right now. "What, ya have a lover's tiff?" That was far too close for comfort, and Bov really didn't want to add his and Pete's... whatever it was that they were into the mix right now. Because things had been good. They had been fucking amazing. But that damn fucking yank had messed it up again. "What do you want, Bov?"

"Fucking yank's an undercover journo," Bov said dully. They all laughed. Bov vented a bit, trying to ignore the guilty feeling building inside of him.

"What makes you think I'd want to sort that out for you?" Tommy asked, almost curious. Because even Bovver couldn't be that stupid.

"Because The Major's there, too."

For a moment Tommy almost looked human again. "Stevie Dunham's there?" Bov nodded at the shell-shocked man. Everything would be okay now. This could all be fixed. They'd see.

"This is how it's gotta go down..." Bovver started as they stood outside the Abbey. He couldn't get cold feet now, after all, but suddenly he wondered how much control he had.

And then it all went black.

________________________________________  
Bov woke up and felt the back of his head—it fucking hurt—and his hand came away with blood. That he could see despite the dark cover of night, which was unusually bright right now, and was it warmer than normal out? He looked up and saw countless people fighting outside the Abbey, the windows all busted in, the building smoking from a fire. He saw Pete and the other boys half dragging someone out of the building and ran over to see Steve, his throat slit, gurgling screams filling the air. Bov tore at his hair; no, this wasn't happening. No. He began to shake his head, hyperventilating for the second time in an hour now. "Why would you fucking do that?" one of them asked, but he couldn't think, couldn't respond.

Then Pete was looking up at him, angry and scared and oh God Pete... "Get a fucking car!"

Bovver didn't fully compute what he was saying, but his body rushed to do whatever it was told, his mind screaming, "I told you not to do it.” He pulled at a car door but its responsible owner had locked it. Bov smashed in the window and reached in to the lock, ignoring the alarm that was now going off. Bov frantically ran back over and began to lift Steve, towing him to the car almost without help from the others. Someone opened the door and they lifted him in back, Bov running to the driver's seat and pulling out, regardless of anyone else around. If Pete's brother died it would be all his fault and shit, how the hell could he ever live with that?

They pulled up in front of the hospital and he honked the horn before jumping out, leaving the car running. Matt and Pete piled out as well, Bov and Pete pulling Steve out of the car as quickly yet carefully as they could while Matt ran ahead, opening the doors and shouting for assistance. They passed Steve over to the doctors who pushed him onto a gurney, Matt and Pete running after it before coming to a halt in front of the ER doors.

As they sat Bov knew this might well be the very last time he was ever allowed near Pete. Even for his stupidity, how could he have fucked things up this bad? Bovver was shaking, a mess, and all he could think about was the one person he loved who would probably never want to see his face again. Bov played absently with his lighter while they waited for Pete to tell them the news.

Matt was on his feet as soon as Pete started to head back towards them, but Bov wanted to do copy the action, he knew this wasn't his place. He needed to wait for Pete to come to him. In the next moment Pete did, shaking his head as he came. "Trusting lads," Pete said scathingly, his tone more vicious than Bov had ever heard it. He was afraid to hold Pete's gaze, but afraid not to as well. He ended up looking down, unable to see the hatred Pete's eyes now held. "You always said trusting lads was my problem. I trust lads too much. Trust the yank too much. This is how you prove your point?" Pete sounded like he wanted to cry, but Bov could tell it was more from the anger than the hurt. Just from sheer pain, and it was all Bov's fault. He'd gladly kill himself for it. He'd do anything just to make it go away. "Backstabbing me? Teaming up with Tommy Hatcher to kill The Major? Kill my fucking brother?"

"I'll kill Tommy," Bovver vowed desperately, crying now. "Just say the word and I'll do it."

"I don't need you for that," Pete said. He said his next words carefully, surely, each one aimed to cut as deep and deadly as possible for a reminder: "I don't need you for anything anymore."

Everything was over. Bovver had known it, but he had hoped... He reached out blindly as he started to cry harder but Pete pulled his arm back. "Go. Away."

"No, please," Bovver blubbered. He tried to keep talking, saying anything, but the lump in his throat was too fucking tight and all his mouth could do was form words that refused to escape. So he put his head in his hands and cried, pissed at the world, himself, and just wanting this all to go away.

Bov didn't know what bridge he'd ended up on, or exactly why, but all he knew was he needed to get as drunk as possible and hopefully wake up with a blanked out memory, or just not wake up at all. "I'm forever blowing bubbles!" he screamed out into the night, standing on the bench. "Pretty bubbles in the air! They fly so high, they reach the sky... and like my dreams..." Bov's voice caught there and he couldn't finish it. And like my dreams they fade and die...

It was too real, too much, and he collapsed into a crying mess once more. He couldn't think of a single thing he wouldn't give to have Pete back.

________________________________________  
He was prodded awake the next morning by an officer. His memory all flooded back and suddenly he was up, the empty bottle clinking against the pavement as he raced off. He had to find Pete. He had to fix things, even if Pete wouldn't let him. This guilt wasn't something that could be lived with, so Bov would make amends, if not for Pete then for himself.

He'd stop being stupid and do something downright good for once.

________________________________________  
When he finally made it the fight it was well underway—you could barely pick out a GSE mate from a Millwall enemy. They were all tangled and mixed in the chaos of screams and blood, all people, and it was strange, more intense than normal and more exciting. Bovver's eyes sought out Pete and found him just as Tommy took him down, a fighting cane in his hand. Bovver was running then, tackling Tommy away before he could do any lethal damage to Bovver's fucking god, the center of his universe. He slammed his fist again and again into Tommy's face, revenge for everything that had happened here. It wouldn't fix things, but it sure as hell was starting to make him feel better.

He ran back to Pete before anyone else could take advantage of the man trapped on the ground. "Me old mate, Bovver. Never could turn away from a scrap," Pete commented as if he hadn’t sent Bov away before, as if the previous night hadn’t happened. Bov could play along with that.

"You know me, bruv," he agreed, surveying the damage to Pete before starting to haul him up. Matt was suddenly there at Pete's other side helping, Pete screaming as weight hit his broken knee. Together they dragged him out of the fighting and to a nearby wall.

Then a car was driving closer and Matt was screaming, Pete in turn yelling at Matt. Steve's wife stepped out of the car as it rolled to a stop, her eyes scanning the fray. "Shannon, stop!" Pete insisted desperately.

"Matt!" the crazy woman yelled, ignoring her husband’s brother.

"Shannon, stop!" Pete yelled again.

Bovver started looking back at the mass of people, trying to find Tommy...

When he refocused on Pete’s family Matt had gone to the car, his crazy sister now having locked herself inside, and one of Tommy's closer lapdogs was tussling with the yank, who appeared to be losing.

Pete grabbed Bov, swinging him round to face him. "Bov! You wanna make up for what you've done, get my brother's family out of here." Bov looked at the fight and back at Pete before he was being shoved away, towards the car. He ran in the direction of the push, taking a flying leap and kicking the guy fighting Matt back against the hood. He and the yank took turns whaling on the fucker until he was down for good.

Shannon and Matt fucking turned back as he herded them to the doors, fucking tried to go back towards Pete. Bov pushed them towards the doors again. "Get in the fucking motor!" he shouted, ignoring the silly woman's screams. "Get in the fucking car!"

"I'll get us out of here, go!" Matt yelled, shoving Bov back towards Pete. "You can't leave him!"

And Bov was off, screaming for Pete. He could see them all starting to gather... oh fuck... and Pete was just lying there all still; Tommy was being dragged away by their mates... Bov dropped to his knees next to Pete's still form. "Fucking help him!" he yelled, not caring who did now so long as anyone got Pete help. Pete could not die. Not now, not ever...

Pete didn't move. Bovver didn't move. No one moved. Bovver's hand slowly stopped cradling Pete's head and it rolled back against the ground... lifeless. Pete was bloody and lifeless... Bov collapsed on top of him, feeling Pete's warmth fading beneath him...

A life without Pete just wasn't a life worth living.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite fics that I've ever written. I wrote it mostly because I was torn between shipping Pete with Matt or Bovver, and I couldn't find a single Bovver/Pete fic, so I decided to write my own lest anyone else stumble upon that apparent problem. This fic took months of effort and, sans the one argument scene written outside The Abbey, should be canon compliant. It's only been edited by me; all mistakes are my own. Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed it!


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